aienkien
by sakurasencha
Summary: aienkien - (n.) a couple strangely but happily united; uncanny relationship formed by a quirk of fate / a collection of Scarlett and Snake Eyes drabbles and ficlets. Renegades verse. Ch 9: A Life of Silver - Training in the moonlight.
1. Meeting

Reposting some ficlets and drabbles originally posted to my tumblr. I plan on doing more, much, much more, especially since I've cleared away some other writing projects and want to refocus on my hiatused GI Joe fic. Sorry for those of you who I know have been waiting me to get back to these guys.

I plan on doing a lot of these as speed writing challenges, so I won't vouch for the quality. This one was written as part of the 30 day OTP challenge, day 1: meeting. It is set pre show.

* * *

 **Meeting**

It was still night when I woke up. At least, that's what I assumed. It was difficult to tell, because there were no windows or doors in the room, only a faint, bluish glow, like the nightlight I used after my mother died, emanating from a small lamp on a table.

I was groggy - after effects of whatever poison must be in those damn darts. My mind cleared slowly, and when the fog finally lifted and my eyes adjusted to the gloom, I saw him, the man who brought me here.

He was as dark and terrifying as I remembered. But I wasn't terrified. One reason is that fear doesn't come naturally to me. Back home they called me "scrappy Shana" because I was always knocking heads together. I might be a scientist's kid, but my interests never ran that way. I was always more in the mood to hit punching bags than hit the books.

The other reason was the way he was sitting, cross legged in the corner, leaning gently against the wall with his hands in his lap, and very quiet and still. Even dressed head to toe in black, he didn't look very menacing sitting like that. He looked more like a peaceful statue, like a guy who just wanted a nice nap.

I watched him for awhile. And then I remembered what he'd done, and my anger ignited, heated, and boiled over in two seconds. "Where did you bring me?" I shouted.

He started suddenly. Maybe he really was sleeping. It was hard to tell with that mask.

But whatever the case, he wasn't sleeping anymore, and he slowly unfolded himself and began walking towards me.

I knew instantly I'd made a mistake. My mouth is always getting me into trouble. A thin futon lay beneath me, barely thick enough to keep away the biting cold of the cement floor, and I was trying in vain to rouse my heavy limbs when he stopped in front of me and stuck his hand into the shadowy void of his uniform.

 _This is it_. I closed my eyes and pictured how my end would come. With a knife, perhaps. Maybe another dart. Or how about one of those razor sharp star thingies that appear out of nowhere and never seem to run out? For all my scrappiness back home, I doubted it would be enough against someone with the confidence to wear two swords strapped across his back.

Just as I was formulating a reunion speech for my dad, I felt a tap on my shoulder.

I opened one eye. "Yes?" Then he handed me my phone.

And then he _texted_ me.

*This is where I live.*

The room was the size of a closet, and there wasn't even a toilet. "Seriously?"

*Sometimes.*

It was starting to dawn on me this guy had no intention of hurting me, poisonous darts notwithstanding, and I began to relax. "Okay. How did you….how did you get my number?"

He just shrugged. Like it should have been obvious, like everyone in the universe ought to have my personal cell phone number.

"Fine. Why did you kidnap me?"

*Didn't kidnap you,* he typed. *Rescued you.*

"I think you need to read the criminal code a little more closely."

*You had no business breaking into that Cobra plant.*

"So what? What do you care, are you on Cobra's security payroll?"

*Cobra is my enemy. They are your enemy as well. That's why I stopped you. You had no plan. They would have caught you and arrested you, or worse.*

"Worse…you mean like drugging me and kidnapping me?"

*I had no choice. You wouldn't leave. There was no other way to stop you. And I didn't bring you here to keep you. You can leave whenever you want.*

"How, exactly? There's no windows or doors or -" The steely sound of his sword unsheathing silenced me dead. He raised the sword over his head and used the tip to prod the ceiling. One of the tiles lifted, silver moonlight shining down on us like a spotlight.

"We have to go out through the _ceiling_?"

*It's how we came in."

"You've got to be kidding me…" I rubbed my temples. The insanity of the situation was starting to catch up to me, and I was getting fed up. I wobbled to a stand, crossed my arms as defiantly as I could, tilted my chin in the way dad hated, and let everything pour out: "What right do you have to bring me here? I mean, what does it matter to you if Cobra throws me in prison? Why do you care what happens to me? You don't know anything about me! And I definitely have no idea who you are. Who are you? And why are you texting me? Why don't you just talk to me? And why -"

He didn't cover my mouth, but the way he held up his hand, equal parts grace and ferocity, had the same smothering effect. I stopped my tirade and he put a hand on each of my shoulders. The connection was steadying. I breathed deeply for a few moments, and after all the fear and uncertainty of the night, all I felt at that moment was safe _._

*If I take you home,* he wrote, *will you please promise me to stay away from Cobra?*

I'm a woman of numbers and logic. But there was nothing logical about the small voice inside me, whispering that now that I'd met this dark, silent stranger, my life would never be the same.

"Hell no."

And the way he staggered backwards, as if my answer had slapped him in the face and he had no idea how to respond, made me wonder if he was hearing the same thing.


	2. When Our Number's Up

_Yes, I changed the title. I can't promise it won't happen again._

 _This was written as a tumblr prompt fill:_ when Snake-eyes saw scarlet and duke holding eachother when they saved them from the cave and seeing them hug again in the van which cause to leave in his motorcycle. I really want to know what he was thinking.

* * *

 **When Our Number's Up**

When he sees her, pressed against Duke like her life depended on it, for the second time in as many hours, his first thought isn't shock or sorrow, or even to whip out the shuriken he'd been saving which literally has Duke's name on it.

His first thought is a number. _Six_.

More specifically: _six years_.

Six years he had trained her, molded her into a weapon nearly flawless as himself. For six years he had covered her back, pulled her out of death's jaws, ensured her safety as only a guilty conscience could.

Six years of friendship, of love and that exquisite kind of pain which makes it real, all evaporating like mist in the sunlight.

In a far-off, rarely acknowledged recess of his mind, Snake Eyes knew this day was coming. Ninja were bred for solitude, not happy endings. But six years had made him comfortable, made him let his guard down, made him _believe_ – because in all that time she had never looked to another for companionship, or found solace in another pair of arms.

Until now.

 _How long have they been like this?_ Of course, the rational part of his brain, the part refined by years and years of regimented meditation, whispers: _it's nothing_. Nothing. Nothing but an embrace. An embrace between friends (and not so long ago he and Shana were just friends, embracing…).

But despite all the nothing he is seeing, what he can't deny, what he can't unsee, is that they look genuinely good together.

No. Not good. They look _right_ – her red hair spilling over the steady strength of his shoulder, his perfect, unmangled face resting against the nest of her hair. It's the kind of image fit for the cover of novels, framed engagement photos lining the walls of a bustling and white picketed house. They fit together like two halves of a whole, and both of them are so whole, so pure and lovely, with no need to hide in dark, festering shadows.

In time they sense his presence, and when they break apart, only Duke looks ashamed. Shana does little other than cast him a bone-weary stare, the pallor of almost-dying blanching her face a smoky white.

Duke starts in with the standard preamble: "Snake Eyes…"

But he never gets to the part about it being _not what it looks like_ , because Snake Eyes – full of love and pain, full of guilt (always guilt) for the _six years of chaining her to someone like me –_ realizes that while he knew it would happen, he can't _watch_ it happen.

His first thought is a number.

His last thought is _run_.


	3. Sword

_This is for the prompt: sword. Set pre show._

* * *

He was sharpening his katanas when Shana blurted it out:

"The pen is mightier than the sword."

He looked up. [What?]

"Just this essay I'm writing. I'm taking that military history class, remember? 'The pen is mightier than the sword' – it's a popular saying."

Snake Eyes recognize the phrase, but only vaguely. Where had he first heard it? Not from his senseis. It was something much too pacifying and trite to have ever passed through their lips. And it wouldn't have come from anyone else of the Arashikage, either. They were a clan who was marked by nothing if not their ruthlessness, most often in the form of a sharp, wet blade.

He decided he must have read it in a book somewhere. Maybe one of the many thick volumes of tactics and espionage that was the bane of every apprentice. Snake Eyes had spent unnumbered hours wading into those pages, the words absorbed and reabsorbed so many times that they soaked into him, transformed themselves from ink on a page into the unthinking instinct that governed his every battleground decision.

But wherever he had first heard the saying, Snake Eyes didn't believe a word of it, and said as much to Shana. [Maybe next time I come across Storm Shadow, I'll leave the swords at home and just write him a strongly worded letter.]

"Okay, obviously in a head-to-head fight, a sword will beat a pen."

[Depends on who has the sword, and who has the pen.]

"Would you stop it?" She paused and clattered about on her keyboard, face glued to the screen. "And anyway, you're taking it way too literally. That saying isn't about _fighting_. It's about _power_. Can the written word have more influence, effect more change, have more lasting power than an army? Those are the questions a phrase like that wants us to ask."

Snake Eyes didn't reply. He had never asked himself those questions. He had never written a college essay, either. Ninja were not trained to be free thinkers, and he went silently back to what he knew best, running the blade along the whetstone in long, even strokes, nurturing the fine edge till it was sharp enough to cut through bone and steel.

For awhile no sounds filled the room but the rhythmic scraping of the whetstone and the frequent bursts of keyboard chatter. Finally, Shana leaned back in her chair with a sigh. "Finished."

[What was your conclusion?]

"That it's true. Words do have more power than physical might."

[I still don't believe it.] He stood and deftly gave a practice swing with the sharpened sword. The blade sung through the air, deadly and precise. [I don't think words could ever have more power than this. Especially not for me.]

Shana smiled. "Give it time. One day, you might be surprised."

Years later, Shana's face plastered on every news outlet, the single headliner of "FUGITIVE!" emblazoned under her name while the pack of them rambled about a nation bent on throwing them into prison based on a fabricated story, Snake Eyes finally understood the full, colossal power of words.

 _The pen is mightier than the sword_.

He believed it now. Even as he wished it wasn't true.


	4. Morning Rituals

_Shipping Week day 2 - prompt: Pineapple_

 _I actually had an entirely different fic planned and half written for this prompt (involving the origins of Fruit Ninja, no less), but it was getting too long and the time getting too late, so I pulled out something short and sweet instead._

 _I might post my fruit ninja story another time, if anyone seems interested._

* * *

 **Morning Rituals**

When chaos reigns, routine is essential.

* * *

He wakes up first, not because he wants to, but because the conflicts raging in his mind don't allow for long periods of idleness. He can usually manage three solid hours of sleep, perhaps four on a good night, and he doesn't mind the deprivation as he once did, because the soothing quiet of pre-dawn is a perfect atmosphere for meditation or katas, or staring at her slumbering face to chase the last of the ghosts away.

* * *

Waking up alone doesn't bother her like it used to, especially now that she knows he'll be in another room rather than in another hemisphere. And there is something in the dimly lit solitude which helps dispel the latent rage of grief, temper the violence of the coming day, the day that came before.

Something in the stark silence that reminds her he is but one room over, peering at his tablet, swiping through news articles and the coffee pot already bubbling away.

* * *

When she pads over to the kitchen she has only to lean over his shoulder to read the next troubling headline and whisper, "Good morning."

Her body is a machine, fueled by proteins and fats and vast quantities of caffeine, and her mug sits steaming and ready by his elbow.

His body is a temple, into which only the most worthy food groups are allowed to enter. His breakfast staples include things like rice, fish, and some amalgamation of leafy, healthy foods thrown into a blender for easy consumption, and which she wouldn't taste for the world.

But he always sweetens it with large portions of fruit, bananas and strawberries and pineapple, and when they share their first kiss of the day, the world's chaos blinking up at them from the screen, it tastes just like paradise.

[Good morning to you, too.]


	5. New Arrival

_Shipping Week day 3 - Pets_

 _Takes place sometime postcanon_

* * *

 **New Arrival**

"Wow. You rebuilt this cabin all by yourself?"

[It's a dojo, but yes.]

"Impressive."

[There's no electricity or running water, and the outhouse is around the back.]

"Okay, slightly less impressed. But even if the accommodations are a little rustic, I'm still looking forward to our annual leave."

[Tell me about it.]

"No code names. No annoying teammates. No insane Cobra plots dragging us halfway across the world. Just you and me, finally."

[About that…]

"Uh, Snake Eyes? Why do I hear _howling_?"

* * *

[Don't worry, Shana. He won't hurt you. Don't believe all the western myths depicting wolves as evil creatures who terrorize pigs or eat brightly colored children's cloaks.]

"Little red riding hood was a girl, not a literal hood."

[Whatever, my point is wolves are mostly loners. Harmless. Very people shy.]

"People shy? It's sitting in your _lap_!"

[ I said people shy, not ninja shy.]

"Look, you know that I love how you're one with nature and the 'kami in us all' and all of that Shinto stuff. But I'm really struggling to understand why a timber wolf is licking your face in the middle of the living room instead of going for some poor elk's jugular somewhere out in the forest. Where it belongs."

[Timber belongs right here. This is his home.]

"And why is that?"

[Because he's our pet.]

"Our pet? Snake Eyes, that's not a pet! It's a wild animal that just really really likes you."

[Is there a difference?]

* * *

"I think the conflict here is that you don't quite understand domestication."

[Sure I do. It's when humans take a perfectly strong and useful animal and warp it into something weak and useless.]

"Pets – real pets – have been bred to live safely side-by-side with humans. Wolves are wild. They're not meant to live around people. In fact, I've never been this close to a wolf before. What am I supposed to do? Should I...pet him?"

[Pet him? He's a _wolf_ , Shana.]

"So what you're telling me is that he's our pet, but I shouldn't pet him."

[Absolutely not. They're proud creatures. They don't like being condescended. They're pack animals, with rules and a code of honor, and I promise he won't hurt you once you've gained his trust.]

"So what should I do to gain his trust? Free him from a hunting trap? Defeat him in a pit of battle? Offer him a dead stag killed with my bare hands?"

[I don't think he'd mind getting scratched behind the ears.]

"That easy, huh? Alright, I'll give it a go. Here, boy. Come on, Timber. Good boy. Good boy, Timber. Hey, I think he's starting to like me."

[Not to ruin the moment, but he just peed on your shoes.]

"You mean he's not even house trained?"

[Housetrained? He's a _wolf_ , Shana.]

* * *

[Shana. Why are you kicking me?]

"Because there's something under here! Don't you feel it?"

[What? Oh. That's just Timber.]

"Timber? He's in our _bed_?"

[It's a futon, but yes.]

"Why is the wolf in our bed?"

[Where else is he going to sleep?]

"There's a million ways I could answer that, but it's late and I'm tired and I'm just going to pretend a wolf isn't lying in my bed and that it's too dark to see your signs."

[Rude.]

"What? Did you say something?"

[Really rude. And I don't understand why you're so against Timber. This whole time he's treated you with proper respect.]

"He peed on me!"

[He pees on everything. It wasn't personal.]

* * *

"Hey. Good morning. Is that coffee?"

[Yes. I thought you would need it after last night.]

"Thanks."

[Are you still mad at me?]

"I was never mad at you. And I know I'm being unfair. The truth is, I don't hate Timber. I really don't. But you have to remember I was raised in the city by a father who barely had enough time raise his own daughter, much less a pet. When it comes down to it, I'm not an animal person, and this whole wolf thing is going to take some getting used to."

[But you're willing to give it a try?]

"Of course I am. Anyone you love is worth a try. And to be honest, the big lug has kind of grown on me."

[I'm glad. I want you to like him. I want you two to get along.]

"I know you do. Oh, here he comes. Who's a good boy? Timber's a good boy, yes you are, yes you are! We'll feed you and shelter you and train you to attack on command. We'll take good care of you, won't we Snake Eyes?"

[The best.]

"And it'll be good practice for us, don't you think?"

[Practice for what? For more wolves? Are we getting a whole family of wolves?]

"A family of something." But Snake Eyes was too busy planning expansions to the cabin to catch Shana's whisper. Timber stared at the ninja and wondered how his alpha could be so dense sometimes. He smelled it on the female the minute she walked through the door.

"What do you think, Timber, should we let him in on our secret?" Timber laid his head in Shana's lap and lolled his tongue out. She scratched him behind his ears. "You're right. We'll keep it to ourselves just a little while longer."

She had earned Timber's trust. And he had earned hers.

* * *

 _Thanks for reading!_


	6. These Mortal Coils

_Shipping Week Day 4 - Prompt: Illness_

 _Takes place pre-canon._

 _Also I think it's been pretty obvious from my other fics, but I write Snake Eyes as culturally and ethnically Japanese (my headcanon is that he's haffu, but that's a fic for another day) which is why I write him with all the Japanese cultural references and slight ignorance of Western culture._

 _Thanks for reading! Feedback is lovely!_

* * *

 **These Mortal Coils**

His senseis called emotion _a_ _disease of the mind_. They poisoned ones judgement. They led to bias, unreasoned decision making, impulsive action, and ultimate failure.

They were an impurity, clear and simple, and any Arashikage worthy of his twin blades would take pains to purge them, cleanse them from body and spirit by the rigorous washing of meditation.

Snake Eyes, without fail, meditated three times a day.

But no matter how far he delved into the cosmic depths of his soul on a quest to empty _everything_ out, when he opened his eyes and took his first breath of cognizance, all his old enemies remained, thrumming through his veins, pulsing in and out of his heart. The fears. The anger. The loss that leads to sorrow and the sorrow that leads to remorse.

Invisible but unmistakable, they seeped into his bloodstream, contaminated every thought and deed. In fact, they were the only explanation for why he was here this very moment: crouched outside of an old Cobra warehouse, Shana jittery as a sprung pet rabbit at his side and Kimi texting him by the hour:

 _When are you coming home, sensei?_

He should be home. He should be training Kimi and fulfilling his obligations to his late master, his own feelings and desires be damned.

But instead, he was getting lost in the exact shade of her hair.

(Not orange enough for carrots or red enough for apple. Something in between that he couldn't quite pin down.)

Instead, he was by her side again, again and again and again, infected by the deadliest disease known to man.

Is there any sickness more chronic than love? And love, he'd learned from his limited experience, was the only emotion he could safely class as terminal.

Four hours of red-eyed staring. Nothing and noone of import came or went through the deserted facility, and the two returned to Shana's place with sore joints, zero intel, and soaked from head to toe.

Shana kicked off her muddy boots. "Let me grab some towels." The storm had caught them off guard, a warm summer squall that reminded him too strongly of the plum rains in Japan.

(That was it – the shade of ume plums just ripened, ready to fall off the branch as the first storms of _tsuyu_ washed across the countryside of the home he loved but could never more return.)

 _Longing_. Another parasite, another infestation in his soul that he couldn't burn away, no matter how much fire he used. Even now he felt the heat steaming off of him, the burdens of life, the burden of _caring_ about life, boiling him alive.

"Here. Use this. And sorry again about the rain."

[Thank you.]

Snake Eyes blinked at the the towel in his hands. [Hello Kitty?]

"What?" She shrugged. "I was a little girl once."

Her ponytail trailed a path of water droplets on her way up the stairs. She called down something about using the downstairs bathroom, but her voice sounded far off, distorted. He only caught the vague details. Snake Eyes turned towards the bathroom off the hall, but the lights were too bright, blinding, and he walked into the alleviating darkness of the living room, fell into the cold, open arms of the sofa.

He must have fallen asleep, because he jolted up, covered in a strange mixture of rain water and sweat, to a cool voice in his ear. "Don't you want to change into some dry clothes?"

He shook his head. It felt a bit like stoking coals. [I'm fine.]

"Are you sure?"

[Yes. Just tired. I just need to rest for a bit.]

She frowned. It was her "data crunching" frown, the one she wore when facts turned to suspicions turned to theories turned to unalterable action. She snatched her hand toward his face, peeled his mask away and forced her palm onto his forehead. Her skin was like ice, and he shivered. "Snake Eyes, you're not okay. You're burning up."

[Not possible.]

"Why not?"

[I don't get sick.]

She rolled her eyes and tramped off to the kitchen. "Everyone gets sick! Even ninjas with ungodly strict diets." She returned with a glass of water and held it to his lips.

[You don't need to do that.] He took it from her and drank. [I'm fine. Really. I just need sleep.] The glass trembled in his hand.

"At least change first."

He wobbled to the bathroom with the towel and the change of clothes he kept in a plastic bag behind her couch. He emerged dry, weary, and looking like death.

[Maybe you're right. I don't feel great.]

"That's an understatement. You look like you're dying."

[I just need rest. Just rest.]

Shana helped him to the couch. She eased a pillow under his head. By the time she draped a thin blanket over him his eyes were closed fast and he was wading through fever dreams, warped versions of the nightmares that plagued his everyday slumber. All his failures, all his fears. The emotions storming inside, destroying everything in their path.

 _Disease of the mind._

So much death, so much death, and the blood was always on his hands.

"Don't worry, Snake Eyes. I'm here. Just rest."

 _I'm here._

The images faded. For a long time there was nothing. Emptiness.

Peace.

Sunlight tickled his eyelids open. The window was open, and somewhere outside birds were singing in the dawn. A glass of water sat on the coffee table and she was sleeping in a chair by his side, the pages of an opened weapons manual on her lap fluttering in a light breeze.

He sat up as she began to stir. "Hey. You're up," she said with a sleepy smile. She closed her book and came to sit beside him.

He was stiff. Parched and exhausted. [How long was I out?] He reached for the glass.

"A couple of days."

His hand froze. [What? _Days_?]

"You were really sick. Your fever was dangerously high and wouldn't break for anything."

[You tried to bring it down?]

"Don't you remember all the cold compresses? Or when I shoved medicine down your throat?"

He shook his head and looked away. [Not really.] 'Embarrassed' didn't quite cover the mental agonies raging in his brain.

"At any rate, I'm glad you're better. You had me worried, you know?"

[Yeah?]

She grinned. "I was _this close_ to taking you to the hospital."

[If you had done that, I'd be this close to taking you to the morgue.]

She punched his arm. She laughed. And then it dawned on him that _she took care of me._

No one took care of him.

He took her hand in his. He stroked her knuckles with his thumb. [Thank you. For watching over me.]

He could hear her heartbeat quicken, and her skin against his didn't feel like the precursor to death. It felt warm and alive, the very purpose of life right there in her laugh and smile, her ferocious eyes and umeboshi colored hair.

 _Maybe she's not an illness after all._

Maybe she was the cure.


	7. Clear Skies

_Shipping week Day 5 - Prompt: Sail_

 _I had no idea what to do with this one and had very little time to write, so this is pretty much a hail mary entry._

* * *

She'll never forget how windy it was.

Everyone at the park held on to their hats. Copper-colored leaves rode the violent currents of air. They buffeted her stinging face, aided in their attack by the tendrils of hair that broke free from her no-frills black tie. Her scarf flapped and the naked branches dotting the lawns looked like bony hands waving hello.

She was here to say goodbye.

[Are you sure this is where you want to do it?]

"Yes." Shana put her hand over the box. "It's where we said goodbye to mom." She lifted the lid, and the wind, brutal and seething, carried the gray dust up and away, into the clear reaches of the sky. When the last flecks disappeared into the atmosphere, she said, "I spent years thinking he was dead. Now he really is."

[Does it feel different the second time around?]

Shana tucked a loose hair behind her ear. Back then she had been younger, rasher. The news of her father's death sparked an anger that had brimmed over into every aspect of her life. "This time I know how he died." A short battle with cancer, and she had been by his side when he breathed his last. "I have closure."

[The truth may hurt for a time, but the unknown hurts forever.]

"Is that some kind of ancient Japanese proverb?"

[I read it on a coffee mug.]

She smiled at him. He was dressed casually for the event. No whiff of tactical gear, and his weapons were safely stowed out of sight. But he was uncomfortable with exposure and in true form was covered nearly as much as he always was. Only a little flash of scarred face could be seen under all the layers.

Sometimes, when they were alone like this, he would hold her hand, and she risked it now. When he didn't pull away, she said, "What should I do with your body when you die?"

He shrugged. [Whatever you want.]

"Come on. You've got to have some preference."

[Do you?]

She considered. But not so much the mortuary options as the man standing beside her. Much to her aggravation he never talked about himself or his history. But she was acquainted enough with loneliness and grief to sense a kindred spirit, one who understood the pain of a family once had, then lost.

The joy of discovering a new one, in the unlikeliest of places.

"You and me to the end. That's my preference."

[Then we go out together?]

"Why not? Let someone else decide where to spread our ashes." She waved to the wind. "Goodbye, dad. See you again one day."

Sailing to the clouds for their next big adventure didn't seem like a bad idea at all.


	8. Unmask Me

_Shipping Week day 7 - no prompt (But actually I used a tumblr prompt for this, which was Shana seeing SE"s face for the first time)_

* * *

 **Unmask Me**

[You're hesitating.]

Shana frowned. Could he ever let the Sensei act drop? Just for a moment? "I know." She fumbled with the pick locks.

[Now you're letting emotion cloud your efficiency.]

"I know!" She took a deep breath. "I know." She handed him back the pick locks. "Maybe this wasn't a good idea."

In the moonlight, it was easy to read him. [What's wrong? You said you wanted those files from your father's old colleagues.]

"I do. But sneaking around, breaking into these Cobra facilities...it's not like it was before. It's more dangerous now."

[Why?]

"Before, If I got caught, I was just some dumb college student with an axe to grind. Now? Cobra would have a field day if they knew a commissioned officer in Army Intelligence was breaking into their labs." She shook her head, forgot to conceal the shine of her locket in the full moonlight. "I don't want to embarrass the army, and the consequences would be hell."

It was the last thing she said before a shot pierced the night.

* * *

When worse came to worse, Shana's default mode was to start threatening.

"If you die, I will never forgive you. I'll drag you back to life and kill you myself, I'll –"

She pressed her hand over the wound. Blood gushed between her fingers. It was so vibrant, so plentiful, a lake of red cascading down his chest. Her clothing was soaked with it, skin smeared with it over every exposed inch.

What to do? Emergency room? He would hate that. But she couldn't let him bleed out in her living room. Couldn't let him die.

No. What was she thinking? Snake Eyes couldn't die. He was strong and fearless. Resourceful. Invincible. He had a way out of everything – or at least someone to show him the way.

She reached into one of his leg pouches, the one where he kept his phone – the keys to his criminal network.

Her hands shook as she pressed the home button. _Locked_.

"Damn it." Luckily, she had a hunch about the pass code.

 _7-4-2-6-2_

The phone opened to a landscape of misting mountain. Snake Eyes sometimes mentioned his various contacts, the ones with locked lips and who worked on a cash-only basis, and she scrolled through his contacts until she found a name that looked like the right kind of help.

 _Lifeline_.

The phone rung twice. A groggy voice answered. *Who is this?* Pause. *What's happened to Snake Eyes?*

"He's in trouble. Can you help him?"

* * *

Lifeline never told her his real name. He had brown hair and kind eyes, said he was, "a medic, not a doctor." She could tell he was ex-military, but didn't press the subject.

The fear must have shown on her face, because his first words to her after examining Snake Eyes were, "It looks worse than it is."

"How could it be worse?" Did he not notice the pool of blood gathering beneath him, the shallow rise and fall of his chest? "He's been shot!"

"Yeah. But it missed everything important." He opened his case and a mass of medical equipment bulged out. "The biggest threat right now is loss of blood. I'll need to set up a few things. Help me get him onto the table?"

Together they lifted him, and Lifeline began setting up the transfusion. "Get me that bag of blood, will ya? I'll need to get to work on these bullet holes as well." He pulled out scissors and cut away at Snake Eyes' shirt, then began removing fabric.

He stopped at the mask. "Have you…?"

She stuck out her chin. "What?" There was no way she was leaving.

"Nothing."

Lifeline began peeling back the mask and Shana had to fight the urge to look away, to get up and bolt out the door. She was going to see him, really _see him_. She'd wanted it for a long time but knew better than to ask. Now that it was happening without his consent, she didn't know what to feel.

What would it mean? What would it change?

The moment the mask came off, she had her answer.

 _Everything_.

* * *

Lifeline packed up his equipment. "Do you know how to change bandages?"

"Yeah. I can handle it." She ran a hand through her hair. "Do you need anything? Money?" She reached for her purse.

"Not this time. Just let me know when he gets up, and we'll call it even, yeah?"

* * *

She scrubbed the floors with bleach. She scrubbed her skin till it was raw and pink.

She changed into fresh clothes smelling of detergent. Her bed was large and dragging a chair into the room seemed an impossible feat for her weary bones, so she laid down beside him to wait out the critical hours.

The moon faded. The sun rose.

He slept like a stone.

Shana kept the curtains drawn and examined him in the shifting light. For years she imagined what was under the mask, what his face was like. It was funny, but looking at the real thing, she couldn't conjure up those images anymore, couldn't remember if she'd imagined him with black hair or brown.

All she could recall was the vague idea of _damage_ , and she was right on that score. It was particularly bad on the left side. What were they? Burn scars? As if an explosion had blasted him from the side.

"What happened to you?" she whispered.

But that wasn't really the question that plagued her. As the hours ticked by and his breath grew steadier, the fears over his life abated and the worry over what was to come next set it.

What would he say when he woke up?

* * *

He opened his eyes at twilight the next day.

They were blue.

* * *

Shana left the room on the pretense of getting them both something to drink. At the tap, she stuck her hand under the stream of cool water. She splashed it all over her face. It was an old tactic of hers, destroying any evidence with rain, sweat, showers, impromptu face washing.

But why cry at all? That's what got her. It was stupid. Pathetic, even. They were a simple pair of blue eyes, unremarkable except in that she'd never seen them before.

Maybe after today, she'd never see them again.

No. That wasn't true.

Shana suspected those eyes were going to visit her every time she closed her eyes.

* * *

She set the waters down on the night stand.

She figured he was too weak to sign anything, so she answered every question of importance that she could think of.

"It was a Cobra guard. Figures they would give the green light to shoot first and ask questions later. I was able to get you into the car, and you lost consciousness on the drive over. I contacted Lifeline and he patched you up. That was two days ago."

Those blue eyes stared straight through her, as if willing her away. Then he looked away. He must have been weak as kittens, but he lifted up his hands and signed, [You had no right.]

* * *

This time, Shana gave no reason when she left the room.

She occupied herself with work. Military bureaucracy being was it was, there was always a mountain of paperwork to go through. Once a inveterate slob, military training being what it was had given her the habit of ritual tidying up. Oh yes, she had things to do. Plenty of things. Better things than dwelling on the knot in her throat or the throb in her chest. And it was better this way, anyway, to let him sleep without the shame of her presence.

She made sure to check on him every few hours. Just a peek inside the door.

Midday, she caught him trying to sit up.

She burst inside. "Don't!"

[I'm fine.]

"You were shot. You're the exact opposite of fine." Was this what it was like having a stubborn apprentice? She made a mental note to go easy on him next time they trained. "Anyway, I should probably change out your bandages. Will you be okay with that?"

He nodded.

She brought over the fresh linen, the washcloth and basin. She unwrapped his bandages and washed his wounds. He never flinched, but he refused look her in the face or even acknowledge her at all. His torso was a map of scar tissue, old and new and somewhere in between. She almost reached out a finger to trace one of the jagged paths, then snatched her hand back, horrified.

"I'm sorry. This isn't how –" She broke off. Why did it seem like something between them had severed? "I wanted you to decide when the time is right. But you were dying. Dying. What was I supposed to do?"

With his silence and his armor of black, Snake Eyes had cornered the market on opacity. But she could never see that mask again without also seeing the fine detail hidden beneath. Pale blue eyes and all the delicate emotions ranging within. A scarred face that was somehow still beautiful, the same way pain is sweet when suffered for the right purpose.

No wonder he wanted them hidden from the world.

[You're right. You did the right thing. I shouldn't have gotten upset, or blamed you.]

How could she stitch them back together?

Shana reached for his hand. "You really scared me." Maybe she had even the score. "I don't know what I would have done if…"

[If I'd died?]

Maybe she had to let her mask fall as well.

"I'm just happy you're okay." She smiled, hand in his.

Snake Eyes brushed away her tears.


	9. A Life of Silver

_For C/P's shipping week day 5 prompt: moonlight_

 _I don't know what this is really, something a person might concoct in an hour at midnight under a deadline. Basically, more sap. Enjoy._

* * *

 **A Life of Silver**

Moonlight was a mischievous thing.

It didn't play fair like the sun. Its rays didn't bathe the world indiscriminately, reveal the truth about _everything._ No, moonlight played favorites. It danced and leaped on one thing and ignored another, shone on what it loved and dismissed all else as forgettable shadow.

Shana was well acquainted with moonlight. That Snake Eyes came only at night was expected, and that he was gone before sunrise was a given. So they trained under the stars, in all the forsaken places of the night. In sleeping parks or the roofs of abandoned buildings.

[Put the weight on your back leg. Don't overcompensate, or you'll end up on the floor.]

He was merciless on the mat, but Shana didn't mind a few (or a lot) of bruises in exchange for what the training offered: balance, power, and a way to gain back control over her life.

And besides, when the gloves came off she'd never met anyone so gentle.

[I told you you'd end up on the floor.] He knelt beside her and held out a hand.

She took it and pulled herself up. "I know. But I anticipated the jab and when it turned out to be a feint..." She shrugged. "I guess I still have a lot to learn."

But she was tired of waiting. The days and weeks and years stretched and Cobra was still out there, burying their enemies and turning little girls into orphans, and more and more of her life seemed to center on her time in the moonlight with this strange man in black.

She grabbed a towel from a bag and wiped the sweat from her face, off the back of her neck. Snake Eyes sat down and pulled something out of one of his pouches. [Hungry?]

"I'm always hungry. Since I met you I must be downing five thousand calories a day."

[It shows.]

She folded her arms. "What?"

He tapped his right bicep. [Muscles. I mean your muscles.]

"Right." She frowned. "I know I messed up again tonight. How do I stop myself from anticipating?"

[Meditate.]

She rolled her eyes. "Besides that." Her meditation training had been aborted at an early stage, Shana citing "pointless" as her main argument.

[You lack patience. Without patience you have no control. Without control your enemy can use you against yourself.] He pointed at her. [Learn to wait, and you will learn to stop anticipating what is never coming.] He offered the energy bar again.

Shana sighed. She peeled off the wrapping and sat beside him, munching what tasted like cardboard, unsurprised at how natural it was to be eating a midnight snack next to a voiceless, faceless ninja. _Learn to wait_. Right now, under the moon and stars and him by her side, his instruction seemed easy. It was easy to wait when she was nothing more than an apprentice without obligation and her life could be anything she wanted it to be.

But her life in the sun was not so malleable. She went to work. She did her job. She plodded through every delineated hour waiting for the night to come, for this second life that was bathed in silver, and sometimes she wondered which one was more real.

Snake Eyes had no day job. Snake Eyes had no day life. His only life was under the moon, and the moon favored him above all others. She could tell by how the light played along every curve and sinew.

Her glow was never off him for long.

"I can learn to wait," she said abruptly.

Snake Eyes didn't have many tells, but she caught the slight jolt across his shoulders that told her he was surprised. [Really? It could be years before you have a chance at taking Cobra down.]

"I know. But I think I can." She smiled. "If you wait with me, I think I can."

He was loyal to the moon. That's why she loved him.

[I'll be with you as long as you need.]

That's why she loved him.


End file.
